


Chemistry of Sin

by BlueNeutrino



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Consensual, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/pseuds/BlueNeutrino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is captured by a demon, who knows just what he's going to do to him in order to rile Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should put this into context: this is my first attempt at non-con, and first attempt at smut in general. I've found that I'm not great at PWP so I kind of have to include it as part of a broader plot, and this is intended to slot into a broader story I've got going on over on FFN under the title of "The Chemical Wedding". I haven't even reached this part in the actual story yet so I did try editing this to essentially make it PWP to read as a standalone, but it just makes so much more sense in the overall context of the story. There's so many in-story and meta reasons why this happens that it's just impossible to really explain without requesting that you read the entire fic when it's done (should you wish to). Hence, even though you can just read this for the pure porn elements, there's a couple of minor details that require explanation: Mammon is my main demon villain in the story, Cristina is essentially a human MacGuffin, and Dean has again got Enochian cloaking symbols on his ribs but with a modification that basically gives him a hotline to Cas. That's pretty much all you need to know.

Dean felt a stiffness in his spine as consciousness slowly settled back in on him, eyes easing open to find he was staring into the dark. There were blurred outlines in the dimness that he couldn’t quite identify, but he could discern the feeling of a hard, uncomfortable seat beneath him and too tight, restrictive bindings around his arms and shins. His legs were fastened tightly against the chair while his arms were twisted painfully behind his back. His forearms were overlapping, and he could feel the bindings cutting into him up to the elbows, restricting his movement almost completely. There was also something covering his hands, and as he tried flexing his fingers to figure out what, he realised it was duct tape.

_Oh shit._

If he couldn’t even use his hands, then his chances of escaping went from reasonably likely to completely impossible.

He was just trying to figure out where he was, recalling that the last thing in his memory was being flung hard against a wall in the fight with Mammon, when suddenly a blinding white light appeared from nowhere just in front of him.

“Ah, Dean…” he heard a cold voice drawl as he twisted away from the lamp that was being shone cruelly in his face. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“I just wish it wasn’t your ugly mug I’m waking up to,” he growled back, recognising the demon as the lamp was adjusted slightly so Dean was able to see his face.

Mammon shot him a sadistic grin, “If you prefer, I could blind you so you won’t ever have to look at me again.”

Dean scowled back, “How about you can suck my dick.”

The demon seemed to find his hostility amusing, and smirked at the reply. “I’ll admit, Dean, you weren’t the one I was most hoping to capture, but you’ll do.”

That sounded ominous, and Dean felt fear clench in his gut at the realisation he’d been captured and tied up by one of Hell’s most infamous demons, and was now completely at his mercy. Dammit, this was pretty bad. On the plus side, it seemed he was the only one here, so did it mean the others had gotten away? Perhaps there was a chance they could find him. _Cas, man,_ he prayed silently, hoping that the modifications made to the angel cloaking meant that this would work. _I don’t know if you can hear me, but I could use a little help right now._

Mammon chuckled. “You still think the angel’s coming for you?”

Dean glared, but inside that set his mind racing. _Did he hear me praying? Can he do that?_

He didn’t get a direct answer, but the demon continued taunting him. “I know you think those angel markings on your ribs mean he can still see you, but it doesn’t quite work like that.”

_How did he know?_

Again, another sinister laugh which didn’t quite answer Dean’s silent question. “Makes for quite interesting reading, actually,” the demon said, and then moved forward to grasp the front of Dean’s overshirt and push it to the side, staring more closely at his chest as if he could see the sigils engraved under the skin. Dean wanted to recoil, but he was so tied up all he managed was a slight rising of his shoulders. “Yes, I can read them,” Mammon continued, “It’s a special skill of mine, you could say. The angel has quite a way with words, doesn’t he?”

A hand moved to lightly touch the upper right of Dean’s chest, tracing his fingers along the rib just under the collarbone. Dean felt it through his t-shirt and his skin began to crawl. The demon was far too close to his face, the touch making him want to be sick, and he gritted his teeth as a faint groan of distress escaped him.

“ _As I command it, henceforth all eyes of Heaven shall be blind to the soul that resides here, just as all ears shall be deaf, and all knowledge turned to ignorance…_ ” Mammon read, fingers following what Dean assumed must be the words in Enochian as they moved across his chest. “ _None shall see what here is marked, and by this name it is claimed under protection…_ Quite an elaborate cloaking, really. Less would have done the trick,” Mammon remarked, fingertips now running down Dean’s sternum and causing him to shiver in disgust. They ghosted over his ribcage before settling on the left of his chest, hovering near his heart, and Dean saw the demon smirk. “Now this is interesting…” he said, laying the flat of his palm against Dean’s chest and tracing his thumb along his breastbone.

He didn’t explain what was interesting, just continued giving Dean a rather ominous leer as his eyes roamed over his torso, occasionally flickering to other parts of the hunter’s body. The sense of violation made Dean’s flesh creep, blood pounding hot through his veins and muscles twitching as specks of heat pricked at his skin.

“If you’re done molesting me, can we get back to how you don’t have Cristina and you’re _still_ losing,” Dean growled, the response an attempt to nonchalantly turn the situation round and throw the demon off kilter, but his discomfort was too obvious for it to work.

“Oh Dean, I haven’t even _started_ ,” Mammon leered, eyes flashing hungrily to Dean’s face as his tongue darted across his lips. Despite himself, Dean shivered, and the demon felt the tremor course through the hunter’s body. “Look at you,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to Dean’s, who strained his neck to try to get further away. “This is a whole new kind of fear for you, isn’t it?” Hands moved from his chest to his face, this time touching bare skin, and gently caressed his lips before sliding down his jaw to his throat. Dean swallowed, gulping in air in heavy gasps to try to stay calm, and Mammon watched his Adam’s Apple bob with the action.

“So, we’ve got you breathing heavily…” Mammon muttered, “Sweat breaking out on your skin…” He trailed his fingers along Dean’s neck and then over his chest again, moving further downwards. “Your heart racing… One does wonder, Dean,” he said as he reached Dean’s stomach, lifting the hem of his t-shirt and then slipping a hand underneath to rest against the hot skin below. “Are you afraid, or _aroused_?”

Dean screwed his eyes shut and clamped down his jaw hard enough to feel the shockwave in his skull, his entire body shaking with revulsion. He wanted to say something – _anything_ – in retaliation, but didn’t trust his voice to remain steady. There came the vile sensation of hot, sulfur-tainted breath on his face and the sound of a low, mocking voice in his ear. “What are you scared of, Dean? That you might _like it_?”

Cool fingertips dipped just below the waistband of his jeans, and in panic Dean’s eyes fluttered open again to stare fearfully at the demon whose face was just inches from his. The still human-looking eyes were devouring him hungrily, the mouth twisted in a cruel, gleeful leer. The demon’s other hand was at his belt now, and Dean was fighting so hard to maintain his composure while he felt hot tears threatening to spill, long suppressed memories of Hell jumping to the forefront of his mind as tremors wracked his chest. His heart thudded madly and his muscles convulsed in their desperation to move and just get away, while heat flooded his face in disgust and shame.

The demon saw his fear and laughed. “Do you want me to stop?”

He’d just unhooked the button on Dean’s jeans and unzipped them, but now his hands paused, giving Dean this one chance to stop things going any further. All Dean would have to do is say, “stop”. Or rather, “stop, please”. The humiliation of having him say it would be enough to satisfy the demon, but no matter what was about to happen next, Dean was not so weak as to stoop to begging. He continued to glare at Mammon in silent defiance, almost daring him to do it.

The demon just laughed. “Suit yourself.”

A hand descended further so that fingers closed around him through his boxers, and Dean screwed his eyes shut once more as he felt his body responding to the touch. The demon stroked along his length a couple of times, just enough to get him half hard before pulling at the top of his underwear to free his cock from the material. A tight fist wrapped its way around his length as Mammon’s thumb brushed over the tip, and Dean felt himself choke back a cry.

“Let me make this a little easier for you,” the demon whispered as he started to jerk him, steadily at first, but quickly gaining pace as Dean hardened further beneath his touch. “Why don’t you imagine I’m Castiel? You’ve pictured it enough times, when it’s just been you and your own lonely hand in the dark, wondering what his fingers would feel like stroking your dick, how it would be to have him make you come... Now why don’t you let me do all the work?”

Tears were spilling over Dean’s cheeks now, his jaw still clenched tightly as he tried his hardest to not let the utter humiliation of this show on his face, but he couldn’t help the gasps that escaped him through gritted teeth with each rough tug on his cock. Nor could he dispel the cold, sickening weight that had settled in his stomach as he found himself unable to deny anything the demon had said, forced to live up to the shame of secrets he’d tried to keep hidden even from himself.

“You have such a pretty cock, Dean,” Mammon almost purred, bringing up his other hand now to fondle Dean’s balls. The demon gave them a squeeze, before lifting his ball sac and dipping a finger behind it to graze Dean's perineum. Dean let out a strangled whimper. “Castiel would like it. He’d like it inside of him, that’s for sure. I think he’d like the taste of it too. Shall I find out?”

 _No…_ The word almost reached Dean’s lips, determined as he was not to beg, but a near sob escaped him sounding like a strangled plea. His earlier quip now seemed so feeble and foolish as the horror settled in of what was about to happen, and the next thing he knew, the demon had dipped his head and Dean felt a wet, hot mouth wrap around his cock. It slid along the length once, making an obscene slurping sound as it sucked him all the way in and then drew back again. The demon made an “ _Mmm,_ ” noise that Dean felt vibrating through him, and then his cock popped out of Mammon’s mouth again with a faint smacking sound. “ _Delicious_ ,” the demon muttered, extending his tongue to lick a fresh stripe along the underside of Dean’s dick from balls to tip. His tongue flicked over the slit once more, lapping up pre-come, and then once again his mouth was on the shaft so that Dean could feel teeth scraping at his flesh.

Dean trembled, feeling a horrible, mind-spinning fear to have a demon’s teeth so near his cock, and a devastating sense of shame at the pleasure he was deriving from the whole sick act.

Mammon sucked him in harder, swallowing his cock so deeply that the hunter felt throat muscles clenching round the tip. There was the none-too-soft pressure of teeth grazing the skin close to the base, and his hips bucked as much as they were able given his restraints. The demon continued working, his head bobbing up and down as he delivered an abhorrent form of pleasure in moist, hot strokes. It sickened Dean how sensations which would normally feel so great could become so corrupted when delivered like this, his body's responses clashing horribly with the revulsion swirling through his mind. There was a tingling pressure building between his legs that grew more intense with every suck the demon made, and Dean wished his body would just shut down and stop feeding the warped buzz of pleasure to his brain. Despite everything, he felt himself close to the edge, straining for release.

Sensing this, the demon pulled back again, letting Dean’s dick fall away from his mouth once more. He then leaned back, a smirk on his face as he studied Dean’s hardened, throbbing cock sitting upright against his stomach. Dean had his eyes open again, enough for the demon to see his pupils blown wide even as he poured as much contempt as he could into one look.

Mammon smiled wickedly. “Do you want to come, Dean?”

“Go to Hell,” came the reply, sounding low and breathless as it came from deep within Dean’s heaving chest.

The demon tutted. “You won’t get what you want by being rude. I have half a mind just to leave you like that.” He then leaned in closer again, smiling tauntingly, “But I’m not as cruel as you think.” A moment later, his deft fingers had returned to Dean’s cock, pinching the soft outer flesh and kneading it firmly while he once again lowered his mouth to the head. Dean’s eyes fluttered closed again as a grunt escaped his throat.

_Just pretend it’s Cas._

Loathe as he was to do anything the demon had suggested, it was true that it helped him cope. If only he could pretend it was Cas that was doing this; it was Cas’ warm mouth and nimble fingers inflicting these sensations on him; it was Cas’ darkened eyes he would see if he looked down… The warmth of desire pooled in his groin at the thought, spreading outwards to his thighs as the demon continued to do his worst. 

Mammon’s tongue fluttered over Dean’s slit, quick as a butterfly’s wings while his lips rubbed over the sensitive skin around it, and fingers worked at the flesh below: tugging, rubbing, squeezing, stroking… the speed and pressure increased for several long seconds until the combination of sensations became too much for Dean. He came with a jerk of his hips into the demon’s mouth, balls pulling up into his body and a yell tearing from his throat as he cried out Cas’ name.

A moment later, he collapsed back down into the chair, his energy spent and hanging his head in shame as he realised what he’d done. Mammon still had his mouth around the head of his dick as he lapped up what remained of Dean’s come, but as he pulled his lips away some still dribbled out to land on Dean’s lap.

The demon straightened up, smirking, clearly delighted by how Dean’s cheeks were flushed red and he refused to look anywhere but at the floor. “You do taste quite exquisite, Dean,” he commented. “If only the angel knew.”

Dean didn’t respond, unable to bring himself to even raise his head to look at his violator. Unperturbed, the demon turned away from Dean and paced to the back of the room they were in, bending down to pick something up off the floor. Dean’s eyes flickered over to see what he was doing, but he couldn’t make anything out.

Having retrieved the item, Mammon began to walk back towards him, and Dean could see he was holding an object that appeared to be wrapped in paper with a string tied around it. “Maybe I’ll leave you like this for him to find,” the demon said as he set the item down beside the lamp, and then took a step closer to Dean again and shot another appraising glance down at Dean’s crotch. “Not quite as impressive as when you’re at full mast,” he commented, reaching down to pinch the end of Dean’s flaccid cock between his thumb and forefinger and lifting it. He rearranged it slightly so it was hanging directly in the middle of his legs before he let it flop back down, adjusting the presentation for Castiel’s benefit. Pearly beads of come still glistened on the tip, diluted with saliva, and Mammon put a hand to his mouth to lick away the small amount that had gotten on his fingers. “But I’m sure that’ll still be enough to get him hot and bothered." Dean barely had it in him to put on a front anymore, his cheeks already burning and his humiliation complete.

The demon turned away again, having now had his way with Dean and deciding he was finished. “I’m going to lift the wards on this place now,” he announced as he strolled towards what Dean was assumed was the exit. “Let your angel come find you. There’s a message I want you to give to him,” – he gestured towards the object he’d just placed down – “and I do hope he’s pleased with that pretty cock of yours I’ve left on display.”

That final lewd sentence was the last thing he said before he turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Dean desperately hoping that Cas would find him soon and simultaneously dreading what the angel would think when he did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of people wanted an update for this, so I have, since it was always the original intention anyway that this is going to be placed into a longer story. The R rated chapters and those that tie in to them are the ones that aren't going to be posted on FFN, so they're going here although I'm not writing or posting every part of the story chronologically at the moment. I wanted to take a few chapters to focus on the aftermath and recovery for Dean and how it's going to affect his relationship with Castiel, but then I'm going to get back to the main plot because all the storylines, including this one, will have to be tied up together at the end, and I don't want things to get too convoluted from posting out of order. Brief explanation of things this chapter from the unposted on AO3 parts of the story: Lydia is an angel allied with Cas and currently working alongside Sam and Dean to foil a plot by Heaven (and Hell) involving Cristina.

The place where Cas found him was dark: underground somewhere, a maze of tunnels that must surely have had a purpose or led somewhere at some point, but Cas hadn’t thought to check that when he immediately rushed to where Dean was. It didn’t make sense to him why all of a sudden he was able to sense Dean again, after searching futilely for the best part of a day, and he guessed that either it was a trap - which wouldn't have stopped him coming to Dean's aid - or that Dean must have somehow been able to escape from whatever warding had been keeping him hidden. But now that he was here, Castiel saw with a sense of horror that wasn’t the case.

There was a lamp several metres in front of where the angel stood, and as Castiel’s eyes were drawn to the space it illuminated he felt something clench in his gut. There was Dean: bound to a chair, head bowed, jeans open to leave him on display without dignity. Castiel couldn’t see his face clearly, but he could tell he was crying. His sobs were quiet, but the trembling of his breath and the way Castiel could see his chest shaking were unmistakable.

It was difficult for Cas to quite get over the shock of seeing Dean like this, but even as he felt an intense rush of worry and concern, a burst of pure fury towards the demon surged through him. Castiel still didn’t know the exact nature of what Mammon had done, but he could guess well enough. The rage would almost have been enough to consume him if his first priority hadn’t been ensuring Dean was okay.

“Dean…”

The hunter’s head jerked upwards at the sound of Castiel’s voice. His eyes widened and he seemed panicked, almost as if being found made him afraid rather than relieved. “Cas?”

His voice almost cracked as he said the word, and it tore at Cas’ heart to hear it, but the angel wasted no further time before quickly crossing to Dean to free him. Immediately, he reached his hands down towards the hunter, using his powers to dispel the bindings and ensure Dean was properly dressed again. He made no comment on the state he’d found Dean in as he grasped his shoulders to help him up, nor did he ask a question as unnecessary and banal as “are you okay?”. Dean obviously wasn’t.

The hunter clutched at the sleeves of Castiel’s trenchcoat as he stood up, and the angel was able to feel the way his hands trembled slightly even as he gripped on tight. “Dean, it’s going to be alright. You’re safe,” Cas told him. He poured as much reassurance as he could into the words, but there was still an anger burning underneath the surface that made his tone harder than he’d meant for Dean. All of that fury was for the demon.

Dean swallowed and looked down, refusing to meet Cas’ gaze. “I know. It’s fine. I knew you’d find me,” he said stiffly. Whatever had just happened to him, he was already trying to brush it off, but his failed attempt at nonchalance wasn’t fooling anybody.

“Dean…” Cas breathed, not knowing what to do or say and feeling completely inadequate for failing to give Dean the comfort he needed right now, or to find him in time to stop this in the first place. He could see wet lines of tears that shone in the lamplight staining Dean’s cheeks, and in an almost unthinking gesture of tenderness Castiel raised his hand to cup the side of Dean’s face with the intention of wiping them away. Just as his fingertips brushed Dean’s cheek, Dean flinched. His head turned away abruptly and Cas saw his jaw clamp down as his eyes snapped shut, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose. Cas froze, feeling terrified that he may have hurt Dean or done something unwanted. Awkwardly, he pulled his hand back, eyes searching Dean’s face for a sign of what he wanted Cas to do and still feeling an overwhelming sense of worry and concern.

Now that Dean was able to stand on his own, his hands had moved from the sleeves of Cas trenchcoat to clench into fists that hung stiffly at his sides. The breath that he’d drawn was held for a second or two before he finally let it out again, an audible tremor in the exhale. “Sam can’t know, okay?” he whispered shakily, and then at last turned his head to look at Cas, eyes wide and pleading. “Please don’t tell him.”

“Not a word, Dean,” Cas promised, although inside he was feeling abject horror that Dean was so ashamed of what had been done to him that he didn’t want his brother to know. It wasn’t as if this was Dean’s fault. There was a pause in which Cas simply stared at Dean and felt as though his heart was breaking for him before he brought himself to speak again. “What did he do to you?” he asked softly, his overactive imagination conjuring up the worst and wanting to know exactly what the demon was going to pay for. A note of disgust had crept into his tone at the thought, and Dean winced. Cas hoped he didn’t think it was directed at him.

Again trying and failing to seem as if he wasn’t completely shaken up, Dean shrugged. The movement was stiff and awkward and looked every bit as pained as Cas knew he must be. “He was just toying with me. Wanted you to come find me because there’s something he wanted to give you.” Dean nodded at the floor by the foot of the lamp, and Cas glanced over briefly to see the object lying there, but that really wasn’t his concern right now.

“What about you, Dean? You’re not alright. Did he hurt you?”

Dean sucked in a breath and his eyes dropped to the floor again, not wanting to look at Cas’ face. “I’ll be alright, Cas. I’ve had worse.”

“If you’re injured, Dean, I can heal you, but I know what he’s done is more than…”

“Cas, please!” Dean suddenly snapped, trying to shut him down as he resolutely didn’t want to talk about it. “Can we just leave, okay? This isn’t about me. We need to get back to tracking down Mammon and sorting this mess out, because I know he’s still after Cristina.”

Cas sighed, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face even as Dean tried desperately to avoid meeting his gaze. “Cristina’s safe. Sam and Lydia are more than capable of taking care of her for now. She may be the one he’s after, Dean, but it’s you that he actually got to. It won’t do you any good to jump right back into things while you’re still shaken up.”

Dean scowled. “Cas, I’ll be fine. We don’t have time to wait, just let me get back on with things. I’ll deal with it.”

He was insistent, but his claims that he would be fine were wholly unconvincing. “Dean,” Cas said firmly, trying to emphasise his point by reaching out to grasp Dean’s shoulder and force him to listen. The effect was instantaneous and unexpected: Dean stiffened, his breathing became quicker and he sharply pulled his arm back, shifting his entire body away from the touch. The movement was so fast it seemed almost instinctive and unintentional. Apologetically, Cas drew his arm away, while Dean stood awkwardly looking anywhere but at Cas’ face, seeming embarrassed by his own reaction.

“Dean,” Cas repeated softly. “You’re not fine. We’ll get you out of here and go somewhere you can take some time to collect yourself. The responsibility for what’s happening with Cristina doesn’t fall entirely on your shoulders, and it won’t hurt for you to stop thinking about it for a few hours.”

“If I’m thinking about it at least I’m not thinking about…” Dean protested, but his voice trailed off as he found himself unable to say the final part out loud. He instead changed direction at the last second. “What are we going to tell Sam?” he finished quietly, sounding anxious.

“I’ll call to tell him I’ve found you and we’re following up a lead,” Cas replied as calmly as he was able, trying to force back down the rage inside him for Dean’s sake. He may not be an archangel, but he didn’t think there was any force in Heaven or Earth that could stop him from smiting the demon next time they met. “He’s been worried sick about you, but I’ll tell him you’re safe with me now. We can say we’re investigating this.” He bent down to pick up the object lying on the floor. “Sam doesn’t have to know what happened until you’re ready to tell him, or you’re ready to tell me.”

He looked to Dean’s face to see how the hunter was taking that in, whose expression was still uneasy but seemed to be coming around to the idea. Dean gave a small nod. “Alright,” he said uncomfortably after a few seconds.

That didn’t exactly make Cas feel any better about anything, but he hoped it meant Dean wasn’t going to try to keep stubbornly trying to shut him out. All he wanted was to help Dean and do something to improve the situation, even if his efforts were to prove completely futile.

“Can I get us out of here, Dean?” Cas asked, raising the index and middle fingers of his right hand to hover in front of Dean’s forehead, this time asking permission to touch.

Dean looked awkward, still seeming ashamed of his inability to just shrug the whole thing off, but Cas was looking at him with nothing but deep care and concern on his face and he eventually gave a small nod. Taking the cue, Cas’ fingers pressed lightly against his forehead, and then the darkness around them receded and the air seemed to shift as they left behind the shadowy underground maze that Dean thought felt just as much like Hell as the place itself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to write three chapters for this, but this one kept coming and coming so now it seems likely to be at least four.

Dean had lost track of time while he'd been held captive, but upon leaving he saw that night had fallen. It was a motel Castiel brought them to. Dean didn't know where, but he left it to Cas to check them in, feeling grateful that he wasn't required to interact with anyone else for now. He didn't think he'd be able to fake being okay convincingly, and there was no way he wanted people to know how shaken he was. The thought of anyone knowing - even Cas, _especially_ Cas - was humiliating. He was Dean Winchester, macho demon hunter, epitome of all things strong and masculine... yet he'd still found himself bound and helpless with his cock in the mouth of a demon. It was the ultimate form of degradation; an insult and a perverse challenge to who he was as a hunter and a man. That, he supposed, was why Mammon had done it. But even worse was that he'd involved Cas.

It chilled Dean to the bone how Mammon seemed to know. It was as if he could see inside Dean's mind and heart and know the thoughts the hunter had tried to keep buried so deeply. All the desires Dean harbored in the darkest parts of himself had been pried out and desecrated, and as he'd tried to draw comfort from them they'd been turned against him. During the worst experience of his life he'd been forced to think of Cas, and now he couldn't think of Cas without being reminded of it. But Cas was also the one who saved him from that. The mindfuck was getting to him every inch as much he knew the demon had sadistically intended.

As the angel let them both into their room, it occurred to Dean that this would be just him and Cas alone in a motel room for the night together, and the thought made his heart pound. Not in a pleasant, excited sort of way, but with fearful unease and a deep sense that this was wrong. They shouldn't be doing this. Not because of Cas, but because of the thoughts Dean had just had about him. Because of the way he'd defiled Cas in his mind like Mammon had defiled him, and even now Cas didn't know, didn't have any choice or control over the things Dean had imagined. Dean felt disgusted with himself. He shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have tainted every thought of Cas with the memory of the demon sucking him off, and he wished he could take it back. If he could turn back time he wished he'd be strong enough to stoically endure it. Not to cry. Not tremble and shake and imagine Cas doing those things to him just to make it bearable. Now he was left with nothing to cling onto once it was over, because he'd already marred everything. Every thought of Cas was stained black with that memory, and it made Dean want to scream.

He entered the motel room and came to a stop, not moving to turn on the lights and his mind too distracted to even register that he should. It was better anyway if Cas couldn't see him clearly, so maybe it would make his feelings easier to hide. Dean noticed there was just a single queen bed in the room and felt a tightness in his chest as his thoughts rushed too quickly to understand what it meant, but then he remembered that Castiel was an angel and didn't need to sleep. "Now what?" he asked hoarsely, gazing at the vague silhouettes in front of him.

Castiel didn't turn on the lights either, choosing to let Dean decide if he felt more comfortable in the dark. "Rest. Sleep. Talk to me, if you want," Castiel answered him in a soft voice. "Anything you need, Dean."

Dean swallowed, unable to bring himself to look Cas in the face. After the images that had passed through his mind while Mammon... while those things were done to him, he didn't think he dared. If Cas could see in his eyes what the demon had done, and how Dean had responded... Dean felt too ashamed to even look at him.

He couldn't manage to vocalise a response quickly, so Cas continued to speak to him in concern. "Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need healing?"

Dean's limbs were sore from his earlier bindings and there were a few bruises on his forearms, but the pain barely registered from everything else flooding his mind. He shook his head, although he hadn't really thought about the answer. "No. I'm fine."

Cas still look worried. "If you'd rather I not do anything myself, should I take you to a doctor?"

"Cas, no!" It came out abruptly, and Dean immediately regretted it when Cas was trying so hard to make sure he was alright. "No doctors, okay? I just need some time. I think I'm gonna take a shower."

"Alright," Cas replied patiently. "I'll just be out here if you need anything."

Dean couldn't manage to reply, feeling an agonising ambivalence about whether he wanted Cas to stay or not. Everything felt far too overwhelming and difficult with him here, but it would be downright terrifying with him gone. He just nodded in acknowledgment before heading into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, feeling relieved that Cas could no longer see the state he was in.

He felt disgusting. Dirty. Tainted. His body still held traces of the demon all over him, which he was sure an angel like Cas could sense and found revolting. The thought that the angel saw the stains on him made him want to be sick, and Dean locked the door firmly behind him. He didn't want Cas - or anyone - to see him like this.

Trying to regain control of his breathing, which had become much too fast and shallow, Dean peeled off his clothes and threw them to the floor. They were tarnished with the demon's essence just as much as he was, and he wished he could just leave them to burn and put on something fresh and clean, but they were all he had. At least maybe he could scrub away some of the invisible filth he imagined was coating his body.

Dean turned on the shower, letting the water stream from the head and testing the temperature with his fingers. The first few seconds were ice cold before the boiler kicked in, and he turned up the heat to scorching temperatures so that he could see steam billowing out from around the shower head before he stepped under it. A gasp escaped past his lips as he felt the sting of heat on his skin, but the pain was a welcome distraction from every other unpleasant thought invading his mind.

For a few seconds Dean simply stood and let the water wash over him, easing the aches in his joints and imagining the heat was sterilising and purifying him... but it still wouldn't be enough to cleanse the seed of rot the demon had planted inside him. Dean raised a hand to his chest and pressed his fingers against his ribcage, recalling the way Mammon had touched him earlier. Despite the temperature of the water, he shivered. The demon's caresses had seeped through his skin to leave marks on his very bones, so that poison flowed inside him and flooded the lines Cas had etched on his ribs. Dean traced the shapes of them with his fingers, his hand brushing over the anti-possession tattoo below his collarbone. With a deep bitterness he contemplated how it hadn't been enough to keep the demon out, it hadn't been enough to shield his heart which felt like it was trapped within a cage of blackness. His insides were rotting. Everything good he'd once been able to think or feel had turned sour. 

He could still feel the demon's hands on his skin, reaching deeper into him to play with his heart and mind and leave them dirtied and bruised from misuse. Wanting to gouge the traces out, Dean suddenly dug his nails into his own chest and dragged them across his flesh. His skin smarted as boiling heat ran over the red welts, and Dean welcomed it. He wanted to claw out every remainder of the demon from his body that he could, and he wanted it to hurt. The only way he could drown out the sick sensations of pleasure that he hadn't wanted was with pain that he did.

His fingernails scraped back over his chest again, and he added soap to his hands to try to cleanse the essence of the demon from himself. Physically, he knew there was nothing there, but he could still feel his skin crawling as if Mammon were right there with him, still touching and grabbing so that Dean couldn't escape no matter how far or how fast he moved. The soap added a slipperiness to his fingers as he rubbed at his chest, and he dug his fingers in harder to feel it. He didn't stop scratching until he drew blood, feeling as if at last the decaying thing inside him had burst through the surface and was now draining away. It didn't bother him that the soap stung where it entered the cuts or that the scalding water felt like it was slowly stripping away his flesh. It felt clean.

The pain in his chest was enough to drive out the lingering ghost sensations he had of cruel fingers tracing over his ribs, but even more vile were the recollections of what he'd felt on his cock. He could still imagine Mammon's mouth there: sickening heat wrapped tightly around him and a strong tongue lapping at his shaft. Dean pressed his thighs together as he felt a wave of nausea at the thought. Teeth and saliva rubbing over him, sucking him until he came and then leaving him coated in his own come... And it was still there. Cas had seen it, Dean knew. His cheeks, already flushed from the heat, burned even redder in shame. Cas had seen Dean's cock hanging between his legs and shining with spit and semen. And right now that same angel was standing just a few meters away the opposite side of a thin wall.

Dean felt his heart speed up and his stomach churn, unable to make sense of the thoughts rattling around his head. If he was honest with himself, there was a time when he'd wanted that. There had been occasions when he'd let his fantasies run unchecked and he'd imagined presenting Cas with his cock, and the angel would grin and go down on his knees and take it all in his mouth... But now the demon had taken that from him. Now he couldn't imagine any sexual scenario with Cas or with anyone without the spectre of the demon lingering in the back of his mind, tainting every possible feeling of pleasure with disgust. Bile rose in his throat as he contemplated that there was just a fragile lock on the door keeping Cas out - and even that was nothing to an angel - and here he was naked and vulnerable and there was nothing really stopping Cas from walking in. But now there wasn't a part of his body that he could offer the angel that wasn't tainted with the touch of evil. His body didn't even feel like his own anymore when he could still feel the demon's hands all over him, claiming him, grasping at his darkest fears and desires and crushing them together to create a bloody, confused mess that he'd left somewhere inside Dean.

The hunter screwed his eyes shut, drawing in a trembling breath as he turned his face upwards into the stream of water. His knees felt weak, and he just wanted to sink to the floor of the bathtub and lie there and not move. The water wasn't enough. He could stand here for hours and it still wouldn't wash away the memory of Mammon's touch creeping on his skin. He found himself wishing it had been violent. If the demon had physically hurt him, if he'd been rough and drawn blood... that was something Dean knew how to deal with. But this was so much worse. The disgust he felt for the demon was only matched by his disgust with himself for trying not to hate it. He wished he'd never imagined Cas blowing him just to make the physical sensations of pleasure make sense. Even as his mind had been screaming in revulsion his body had been telling him it felt good. It was confusing and abhorrent and now left him feeling sick to his stomach.

As he remembered how his cock had hardened under the demon's touch he felt something stir in his groin, unpleasant and unwanted. It was an insistent ache, like an itch he was scared to scratch for fear of it leaving him feeling something worse, but it wouldn't be ignored. His dick felt heavy between his legs and he reached down a hand to grasp it, starting to stroke himself in the hopes of rubbing away all traces of the demon from his skin. Touching himself like this was uncomfortable after what had just happened, but it was all he could think to do to try to replace the feel of Mammon's mouth on his cock with that of his own tight fist.

This time he tried not to think of Cas, knowing it wasn't fair to drag the angel into the mess that was going on inside his head, but the harder he tried not to think of it the more acute his awareness became that Cas was actually physically here and standing in the next room just a few meters away. His cock filled to rock hardness as the image of the angel filled his mind, and Dean gripped his dick even tighter in frustration. He didn't care if he chafed or hurt himself as he pumped vigorously, wanting to punish his cock for betraying him and getting hard from the demon's touch. The pads of his fingers dragged roughly over the soft skin as he tried to scrape away every trace of saliva Mammon's mouth had left.

_Just get him off me. Get him OUT._

He really didn't feel like jacking off right now, but he hated the thought that the last thing to make him come had been a demon's hands and tongue. If only he could erase that and drown it out with his own fingers if he rubbed hard enough, maybe the disgust would lessen and he wouldn't feel permanently on the verge of throwing up. Tears mixed with the water from the shower as he stroked himself, trying to get it over with quickly and feeling a horrible panic that maybe Cas could hear him in the next room. His breathing was unsteady, but as he worked himself he found that it didn't feel that good. Physically, maybe, he could feel it was somewhat satisfying, but mentally he was just as revolted as he had been earlier and he felt the same disconnect in his mind from his body's responses. When he finally forced himself to come he let out a whimper, feeling his muscles clench and imagining that he was releasing the final traces of the demon from his body. Maybe now at last he could feel clean as his semen washed away down the drain and his body had been scrubbed raw, but instead he just felt empty.

It took several more seconds before he finally brought himself to shut off the water, and then stood shivering in the bathtub. His limbs felt stiff even as they trembled from the sudden cold, and there was a further pause before he reached for a towel and started to dry himself off. Pain shot through his chest as he pressed at the scratches on his skin, but he didn't try and be gentle. The pain felt clean and pure, in contrast to the invisible layer of grime he even now imagined was clinging to his unmarked skin. It would take more than a hot shower to cleanse him of the stains Mammon had left.

Once dry a minute or two later, Dean found himself staring down at the pile of clothes he'd left on the floor, and his stomach churned at the thought of putting them back on. He'd just about convinced himself he was clean - physically, at any rate - and redressing would just feel like contaminating himself again. But what choice did he really have? Cas was waiting just outside, and Dean couldn't possibly go back out there in just a towel. Normally, he wasn't so shy, but after everything the thought of Cas seeing him naked was terrifying. He could barely stand the thought of Cas looking at his face anymore, let alone any more of his skin with just a thin layer of fabric round his waist to cover his crotch. Nor was there any way he was about to let Cas see the marks on his chest. The angel didn't need to know how Mammon had toyed with Dean's mind to leave him wanting to claw at the marks Cas had made on his ribs, but still he couldn't stomach the thought of putting the clothes back on.

Dean shivered again, letting out an unsteady breath as he took a step towards the door and then turned round to press his back against it, ensuring it remained firmly closed. He sank down to sit on the floor and then leaned his head back against the wood, swallowing down a sob that shook his chest as he closed his eyes. He felt vulnerable and trapped. Here he was, naked on the floor of a bathroom and paralysed from the fear of what his closest friend would think of him if he was honest about what had happened, or how hurt he was. Maybe it was irrational for him to feel like this, but the demon's mind games had left him too ashamed to admit anything to Cas. He wished so much that he knew how to deal with this and find a way to just shake it off and carry on, but he just couldn't. Mammon had found a way to reach much too far inside him and mess him up so deeply. His insides all felt like they'd been damaged and rearranged and he had no clue how to start cleaning up the mess.

Sucking in a deep breath, Dean crossed his arms over his chest and gripped onto his shoulders, forming a barrier to keep the demon out as he tried to hold his organs in place. He wanted control of his own body back, but it was difficult when his mind seemed to be working against him. So many confusing thoughts and emotions were swirling round his brain, and although every rational thought told him he was clean and he could trust Cas to take care of him, it didn't quell the devastating fear and shame that had taken over.

It took him by surprise when he heard the voice on the other side of the door.

"Dean?"

His eyes snapped open and he felt his heart start to beat quickly against the inside of his right wrist. Cas was just a few inches away on the other side of the wooden barrier, and Dean felt his mouth go incredibly dry as he realised he was sat here not wearing any clothes.

He didn't reply, and Cas continued, sounding concerned. "Dean, how are you doing in there?"

His tone was soft, but Dean's reply was choked out abruptly. "I'm fine." All he could think to do was repeat the same unconvincing lie from earlier.

It was clear from Cas' answer that he didn't believe him, but the angel was patient. "I've called Sam, and he thinks you're with me investigating a lead. I was gone for a few seconds to fetch you a change of clothes from the bunker, and I'll leave them just outside the door. If you like I'll wait outside while you put them on."

There was a pause before Dean replied, overwhelmed by the care Cas was showing. After the sick thoughts he'd had about the angel earlier, he didn't deserve this. "Thanks, Cas," he said awkwardly after a few seconds, feeling that the expression of gratitude was wholly inadequate for what he felt.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, Dean," Cas replied quietly, and then Dean heard the faint flutter of wingbeats through the door, leaving him free to go back out and get dressed again.


End file.
